No Harm Done
by OccaisionalPen
Summary: A bungled prisoner escort lands Harm in the New Mexico desert, working to set things right. Set in any season.
1. Chapter 1

_A bungled prisoner escort lands Harm in the New Mexico Desert, trying to set it right. As usual, the JAG characters don't belong to me – but everyone & everything else does. ___

_Enjoy!_

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1500 ZULU

New Mexico Desert

Search Headquarters

I paused and studied the man in fatigues. Six foot or so, probably early thirties - a little tough to tell from the rear - dark hair cut military short, deliciously fit; standing almost at attention and glued to a cell phone while everyone else was in a rush to get to the search briefing. Definitely not a regular in the search and rescue scene; but definitely someone who piqued my curiousity.

I strolled toward the helicopter a few yards away. "Hey, Sam," I casually asked one of the pilots, "is he one of yours?"

Sam pulled his head out from under the hood - or whatever they call those things on a helicopter - and looked in the direction I'd nodded. "Nah," he shook his head, "he's Navy."

"Figures. He's too good looking to be Air Force, let alone local in your unit at Kirtland." Oh, well, such is life. "How can you tell with the camo's?"

Sam shrugged. "He's the dude who caused this whole thing. Don't know why they sent a lawyer to escort a prisoner, anyway. Would've thought an MP would make a better job of it."

"You mean the Navy didn't trust you guys?" I couldn't resist the jibe.

He laughed and went back to his pre-flight. "Watch it, lady, I'm flying you and that dog in today….and I hear that there might be some turbulence…."

Navy stood between me and the search meeting – almost - so I detoured a bit further to continue my investigation. The tall and impressively good looking part I'd already deduced. The dressing down that I overheard from his cell phone was impressive, too.

"Well, then, Rabb, you'd better get out there and bring Reynolds in. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" Even I cringed at that voice and wanted to salute. Me, a sworn civilian, who couldn't speak military and only dealt with their helicopter pilots on search missions because I didn't have a choice.

"Yes, Sir, absolutely clear. Sir."

"Good. See to it." Even the sound of the phone on the other end slamming down sounded authoritative. I felt somewhat sorry for the guy on the receiving end, who managed to cringe slightly and sigh at the same time.

He turned around. Whoa, even more impressive. Blue eyes, nice jaw, a few stitches on his forehead, I'll bet there's a wild smile just currently hidden…. Whoops, I'm staring. Not polite.

"Bad day at the office?" I asked, trying not to act too stupid. It had been a long, long time since anyone had put me on a don't-act-stupid alert.

"No," he replied, "about the usual." He folded the cell phone, slid it into a pocket, and fell into step next to me. "I'm Harmon Rabb."

"Jen Little." His handshake was nice; strong, natural, relaxed. Nice hands, too. "The pilot said you were Navy. Doesn't that mean you come with a rank?"

"Commander, actually, but most people just call me Harm," he smiled a bit. Yup, nice smile, but it faded quickly. "The Admiral, on the other hand, sometimes just calls me sh…."

"LITTLE!" The Search Commander's voice boomed across the area. "YOU'RE LATE! WHERE THE BLAZES ARE YOU THIS TIME?"

We looked at each other. "Me, too." The laugh was real, from both of us, as we joined the meeting.

The Search Commander glared. "How nice of you to join us. And to bring along Commander Rabb, who will now brief us on our missing person."

My companion imperceptably straightened and moved authoritatively to the face the motley - but highly expert - group of searchers. "Thank you. Lieutenant Joe Reynolds is being sought by the Navy for his involvement in two significant crimes. The first, illegal sales of stolen Navy weaponry. The second, a murder of a military police officer, which occurred during a transaction, and here in New Mexico." Rabb paused and scouted the group. "He is also being sought by the New Mexico State Police in conjunction with his armed assault on an officer, using the officer's own weapon. The assault occurred during his escape attempt from the Albuquerque airport."

"Pretty successful for an attempt," someone behind me muttered. "Damn lawyer."

Rabb ignored this comment and took a breath to continue, but was interrupted by the Search Commander. "Thank you, Commander. Reynolds then proceeded to Bandolier National Monument in a stolen vehicle, which was abandoned not far from here. A rifle and other items were also reported missing from the vehicle upon it's recovery. We have witnesses who saw Reynolds heading into the back country, and a possible sighting ten miles further in. Which is why we are here today. Consider Reynolds armed and dangerous.

"Folks, the weather is deteriorating and there is no guarantee of helicopter rides back out, so pack for the duration. We will have civil air patrol and other fixed wing support for as long as possible. The terrain will make radio communications difficult – grab your ham gear, you may be able to relay through the repeaters in Santa Fe or Albuquerque as backup. Search assignments are……" He checked his list and the corner of his mouth turned up just a little bit.

"Little and Rabb. Dog Team One. Insert at the place last seen. Cover grid nine. First insert, move it, now."

Rabb? How on earth did I get stuck with the (albeit handsome) Commander? This was work , not some day hike, and lives were at stake - my life, in fact, if the weather went bad and we got stuck. Searches were inherently dangerous. And I did NOT like the idea of searching for someone who didn't want to be found and probably had a gun to prove it. Been there, done that, don't want a re-run. I ranted and raved, silently, all the way back to my truck, cursing Rabb for getting us into this search in the first place, and next for being here so that I got stuck with him.

My hand shook as I slid my handgun and an extra clip into my pack for the first time in my search career, double checked my radios and the spare batteries, grabbed an extra gallon of water and added my bivvy sack and down parka, and clipped a leash on Timber. Who was, as usual, excited to be going. He didn't care who he looked for.

"Rabb!" I yelled, when I spotted him heading toward the helicopter, which was already spinning up. "Come here for a second!"

"Jen? What's up? And who's this?" He asked.

"That's Timber, the reason that we're Dog Team One. What do you have in that pack? How much water? What survival gear? Come on, come on, we don't have much time, the air's thinning."

"Air's thinning?" He looked puzzled. "Oh, yeah, right, high altitude and air density for lift for the chopper, it's getting warmer. Got it."

At least he was a quick study. I reached for his pack, and he pulled it back. "It's fully equipped, compliments of the Air Force."

"Fine," I said, "add this." I gave him another gallon of water, a plastic tarp, some cord, a box of granola bars, and a few garbage bags anyway. He looked annoyed, but he'd appreciate them if we got stuck somewhere. I gritted my teeth and climbed aboard the helicopter, followed by Timber and Rabb.


	2. Chapter 2

1600 ZULU

New Mexico Desert

Stone Lions

The flight in was uneventful, even though I had to keep hauling Timber back from the cockpit.

Rabb and I watched the helicopter depart. Twelve miles of canyons a quarter mile or more deep, rocks, scrub brush, and high altitude desert lay between us and the search base. And our search area was taking us in the other direction.

Timber whined and brought us back to the matter at hand.

"Have you ever done this before?" I asked Harm.

"No," he said, "but I made it through basic training, survival school, combat, and…..a few other adventures." His eyes became hard. "I want this guy, and I will do whatever it takes to get him."

He might just measure up after all. Navy or not, he looked like he had guts, and maybe some desert-rat smarts. I grudingly gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"OK, Harm, here's how it works. Timber is an air scenting dog; he will find any person, or any article of clothing or things of a personal nature. He reads the wind and the air currents, and he'll tell us if he smells anything. Our job – my job – is to put him in the best areas for him to work. And to watch for things like footprints and other clues." While I was talking, I was preparing Timber's search collar.

"Right. Doesn't he track, like a bloodhound?" Harm asked.

"No – air scenting is more efficient for wilderness searches. But he will track, and track very well, when the time is right or when I ask him. Remember, Harm, the job in searching is two fold: first, to clear as many areas as possible, as fast as possible. Second, to find clues. Both reduce the search area, and ultimately lead us to our victim…..uhhh, man…..quicker. That's where the dog excels."

Harm nodded. "What's the stuff on that collar?"

"Technical wizardry, except it's not technical. A name tag, so if he gets lost someone knows who he is. A hook for a light stick if we work in the dark. This….thing….is a brinzle; Timber will pick it up and carry it to me if he has a find." I slid the collar over Timber's head. "He usually wears a bell and an orange vest for this type of work, but not today." I looked at Harm. "No sense having a noticeable target."

I released Timber and said "Go Find!", and he was off like a shot.

"Clues," Harm said, "like footprints?"

"Anything. That's your job. Mine is keeping track of where we are and handling the dog. We'll be moving fast – we both need to keep all of us out of trouble. Got it?"

He nodded. "Got it. Watch our sixes." And off we went, Timber casting across the mesa.


	3. Chapter 3

2400 ZULU

New Mexico Desert

Somewhere

Harm leaned back against a rock and drank more water, first pouring a bit more out for Timber. Our lunch break was about over, and we had called our status into search base. Not that there was much to report; only a quarter of our area gone, and not a clue.

He tilted his head back and studied the sky.

"I know," I said, "the weather is changing, and fast. Typical desert. We've got a lot of ground to cover yet, and the air currents are changing. We could inadvertently leave some areas uncovered, particularly up here on the mesa."

"How about working the edge of the canyons? The wind has shifted, and now it seems to be coming in off the south – might lift some good scents up and out, but it could be turbulent. Timber might need to get awfully close to the edge."

I looked at him. "My thoughts exactly. How did you learn about air flow, currents, and turbulence?"

"I'm a pilot."

"Pilot? Rumor had it you were a lawyer, from DC. Do you fly as a hobby, then?"

"Yes, and no. I am….was….a fighter pilot. Tomcats." Harm's gaze settled on the distant mountains. "Now I'm a lawyer, for a variety of reasons." His gaze settled on me. Oh boy, I couldn't take too much of those eyes and keep my focus on much of anything.

"Right," I said, abruptly standing up and shouldering my pack. Those eyes were too close, too deep, too handsome - my stupid alarm was ringing again, loudly. "I'm a dog handler in my real life and a civilian the rest of the time. I hate planes and anything that leaves solid ground. Let's get back to work."

We reached the edge of one of the many canyons in a half hour, and Timber eagerly worked just below the rim, checking back in with us from time to time. Time passed, the sun was getting lower in the sky, and it was getting colder and windier. My thoughts were turning toward figuring out how to get back to rescue base - and how to explain that we had barely covered half of our area - when Timber came bounding over the rim with purpose. Harm saw him first. Timber was grabbing his brinzle and dropping it again, grabbing and dropping.

"Timber!" I exclaimed. "Good dog! Way to go! Show me, show me, what did you find?"

Timber took off again and dipped below the edge, and I followed him – almost.

"Whoa!" Harm grabbed my pack. "Where are you going?"

"What are YOU doing? Timber has a find. It's my job to check it out."

"And walk right into a bullet?" Harm asked. A handgun, muzzle pointing safely toward the sky, had materialized in his hand. "Or fall off that unstable edge and land a thousand feet below? I don't think so."

"Where did THAT come from?" Actually, I was relieved – I might be carrying a gun, too, but truth be told, I'm a lousy shot and I hate to fire the thing, even on a range.

"Don't ask," he replied. "But you're not going down there."

"So you're going to do it instead? Wrong answer."

He did have a point, though. "Listen, if Reynolds is down there, Timber has already gone up to him and made friends. It's obvious he's a search dog, and if Reynolds had an ounce of sense Timber would be dead. Besides," I hesitated a bit, "if he had a gun, Timber would take him down, no questions asked. It's safe to go look."

Harm looked thoughtful. "Timber would take him down?"

"Yup. He'd take you down, too, if he thought you were a threat." At that moment, Timber appeared back over the edge, clearly impatient with me for being so slow.

"Great chaperone for a first date, isn't he?" Harm discreetly slid the gun back into it's hiding place. "OK….how about a rope around your waist, you take a look, and I haul your six back up here when you fall?"

I grinned. "Now we're talking! Besides, Timber isn't sure what he's found. That grabbing and dropping of the brinzle – I've seen that before. But not often."

"You mean……" he started to say after a few seconds.

I nodded.

We were right. When I scrambled down over the edge and finally got a look at Timber's find, it wasn't a live find. I climbed back up lost my lunch, like I always do after meeting a cadaver. It didn't take a genius to see that the cause of death most wasn't an accident – it was a bullet hole in the back of the head, and it was reasonably recent. Harm climbed down and confirmed that it wasn't Reynolds, and then rejoined me on the rim.

I marked the location on our map, and Harm looked thoughtful. "Jen, there was no gear – no backpack, no tent, nothing. Could it be up here?"

"No, Timber would have found it." I didn't like the implications, but I didn't say anything.

Harm sighed. "Reynolds has completed his outfit. Weapons, back country equipment…. He's got to be desperate. But he doesn't have anything to loose, either, he's already going down for life."

"If it was Reynolds." I still had hope.

Harm shook his head sadly and took out the radio to call in the find. No sooner had it cleared the pack than the rock at his feet shattered, followed in an instant by the "CRACK!" of weapon fire.

Harm dove at me, and somehow both of us wound up tangled together and over the rim, followed by Timber.

"The radio!" I gasped. "Where's the radio?"

"Here, call it in, I'm going to take a look." Harm crawled to the right.

"Don't be a nut! One cadaver is enough on this search!" He went anyway. I fiddled with the radio. "Rescue base, this is Dog Team One……Rescue Base….."

Damn it, no answer – we had to be out of range. Change channels. "Sky Cover , Sky Cover, this is Dog Team One….. Give us a hand here, guys….."

Another shot rang out. "Harm!"

He siddled back. "No way out up there right now. Can't see him, either. Any luck ?"

"No – out of range. Nothing from the C.A.P., either."

He looked up. "No surprize. No one's flying in this weather." He looked down the canyon. "How about the ham channels? Do you think we've got a line of site to the repeaters?"

"How about that cell phone?" I asked, frantically digging out my tired old two meter rig. He dialed, I tried to raise the repeater.

We gave up at the same time. It seemed that we were on our own. All on our own.

"Dark," he said finally, "we can get out of here after dark. We wait." Our eyes met.

My don't-act-stupid alarm was ringing loud and clear. Listen to it, Jen, I said to myself, he's your partner, you don't even know him, you have other things to worry about….

A wet snowflake brought me back to reality. I turned away. He looked up, then down. We looked at each other again, and I voiced what was in both of our minds.

"Down," I said. "We won't make it through the night in this storm if we stay here. And if we don't get down soon, we won't get down at all. We move."

Harm looked up again. "The rope is still up there."

"I guess we free climb, Rabb. Be an officer and a gentleman. You go first."

"I thought you were the expert here?" His raised eyebrows were beginning to collect snow.

I tried very, very hard to make it into a joke. "I am the expert here. But that doesn't mean I like it. I hate heights. I positively, absolutely, despise climbing. The only possible enticement for me to free climb the twelve hundred feet down this almost vertical canyon wall is knowing that there is a handsome hunk of a Navy lawyer down below me to catch me when I fall."

He detected the stress in my voice, and quietly added, "Or a madman with a rifle up above?"

"That too," I agreed, "that's a very, very good secondary motivator."

"Well then," he stated, "I'd guess I'd better get started. What about Timber?"

"He'll find his own way down." I hoped. "He's done stuff like this before."

Harm led off, and it was a grueling descent. The rocks were slippery. Light was fading. In some areas we could almost stand; but the key word is "almost". Timber scampered around like a mountain goat, and Harm had the agility of a road runner scaling brick walls. I had to mentally pry my fingers off of every rock that I managed to cling to. For the first time in my life, I hated that dog. For the second time today, I hated Rabb.

"Not a problem, see?" Harm called. "Look, even Timber can do it. You can too. Just loosen up a bit, slide down that slope a little, there's a great handhold right next to the cactus."

"GO TO …..well, SOMEWHERE…. YOU ARROGANT NAVY…. NAVY….LEECH!"

"Leech?" he called, acting hurt. "Is that any way to treat your handsome hunk of a safety net? Leech?"

"Aren't all lawyers leeches?" I yelled down.

He laughed. "Not on my salary, no ma'am, you won't find any evidence of that!"

Those were the last words I heard before my precious anchor to the planet, a simple rock, pulled out of it's cocoon of earth. I remember being amazed by it's smooth round surface, the tiny piece of moss just under my index finger (where did THAT come from in the desert?), the dull red color in the fading light. And then I realized that I was falling backward.

"HAAARRRRMMMMM….!!!!"


	4. Chapter 4

0400 ZULU

New Mexico Desert

Canyon Bottom

My first thought was….I'd died. My second thought was….purgatory was very, very cold. My third thought was….

"Jen? Are you awake? How do you feel? Are you hurt?"

…..there had to be many, many worse ways to go than in a high desert blizzard with Harmon Rabb.

"Harm?"

"Yeah, right here. Are you OK?"

I tried to sit up. "Where's Timber?"

"Just stay put a minute. Timber is here, he slid down the wall after you. And landed on top of both of us. Are you hurt?"

I moved my arms, my legs, my head. Nothing too bad, anyway. "I'm fine. Bruises. Maybe a twisted knee. Nothing agonizing or numb. You?"

"Same. Maybe twisted my back a little when you hit me. Here, have some water."

I sat up and drank. "Are we at the bottom?"

"Yes. Thanks to you, we just…took a short cut down, I guess."

"Camp. We need to make camp. It's almost dark, the storm…"

"I'm on it. I've riffled through both packs, and there's enough stuff to jury rig a shelter. Might not be warm, but it might be dry." He grimaced. "Well, drier than where we are now, anyway."

"Harm, these canyons collect run off and feed the Rio Grande, which isn't all that far away. If this storm amounts to anything, there will be a river running through here by tommorow – either from above, or below. We've got to camp on slightly higher ground."

"Right." He thought a minute. "On our way….down….I saw a wide ledge, with an overhang. Not a cave, but almost."

I shook my head negatively.

"Can you climb?"

Still shaking my head, I replied, "I hate heights. I hate to climb." I put my pack back on. "Human beings were made to stay close to the earth." Harm painstakingly led the way. "Climbing is NOT safe." My knee hurt. I kept going. We made it to the ledge. Timber was already there, grinning like an idiot. I tied him loosely to a scrub juniper. "You sleep on the outside, spider man," I said to Harm.

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled, and we set up camp.

Such as it was, that is. The tarp to keep the snow off, a bivvy sack cut open and spread on the ground, a few space blankets to share, and a shaded flashlight constituted our camp. At least we had water, good food, and dry clothes. All the makings of home.

"Well," Harm finally said, "if you're sleeping next to the wall, you'd better climb in first."

"Right." This, I thought, was too awkward. Why did he have to be so darn handsome?

We kept a careful distance apart, backs to each other, under the space blankets. But it wasn't working.

"Quit stealing the blanket!"

"No, you already have more than half!"

"It's my space blanket, idiot, it came out of my pack! I want it back!"

"I put it there! Besides, I'm cold!"

"So let the dog sleep on your feet!"

"Get real! He's covered with snow!"

A few seconds later, a soft laugh started. "You know, if this weren't happening to us, it would almost be funny."

A few moments passed.

"Jen?"

"What now?"

"What's with the badge and the gun in your pack?"

My mind froze. "None of your business!" It came out much sharper than I had intended.

"Right," he said. But then he added, after a pause, "You want to talk about it?"

No, my head screamed. Yes, my gut said. After a brief wrestling match, the words came out. "I handle - handled - a canine unit. Timber. For a while anyway. Until….. until…. one night…" I couldn't go on.

"Bad scene?" he asked after a moment.

I swallowed hard and moved further away. "Yeah. I didn't….we couldn't…..another officer …." I took a deep breath and changed tactics. "Extended leave, sort of. They made me keep my badge. And the gun. And they let me keep Timber. I had to agree to come out, sometimes, on searches. But not on felony searches. Which is what this….is turning into." I shuddered and closed my eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "that you went through that."

The snow accumulated on our makeshift shelter.

His voice was quiet when he next spoke…..of the search for his father, of the crash, of the death of his RIO. My respect for him grew.

Timber snored quietly.

"Harm?"

"Ummm?"

"Will someone miss you if we don't …. get back?"

There was a long pause. "No," he said quietly. "not that way. You?"

"No," I whispered. "I've never been able to find someone who can tolerate both me and Timber. They all leave."

Sometime not too long after, he rolled over, slid next to me, and wrapped his arm around my waist. The silence was absolute.


	5. Chapter 5

1500 ZULU the next morning

New Mexico Desert

Camp

"Jen, wake up. The snow has stopped, and it's melting fast. What do you think?"

Inwardly, I thought, what a way to wake up. Outwardly, I groaned. "Coffee. I think coffee, is what I think." But I got up and looked around anyway.

"Down the canyon; we need to head down the canyon. We'll get out of this box and be able to reach the ham repeaters, or the cell phone towers." Harm's plan was sound.

"Right. It's possible the air patrol will be up today, too. It wouldn't hurt."

We broke camp. We climbed down from that ledge, and wobbled our way along side the river in the canyon. We were, by almost any standard, a pretty sorry pair. I had sent Timber out to search again - what the heck, one never knew. We reached the Rio Grande just before noon.

"Radio," I said.

"Cell phone," Harm replied.

It worked – they both worked. Reynolds' last known position was relayed, as was our request for transport. And as was their reply, "No taxi rides home today, children, start walking, there's another hum-dinger of storm coming. Forget Reynolds. Get in by tommorow."

They gave me the locations of the other search teams, caught in the storm as we had been, and I plotted them on my map.

"Harm, take a look at this."

He studied the map. "He's trapped. The mesa ends here, above us, at the river. The other searchers have closed off his escape route at the other end."

"Do you think," I asked, "do you think Reynolds knows it?"

"He's not stupid. He can't miss the helicopters, the insert patterns, the air coverage. He knows."

We looked at each other. "This," I paused, "isn't what it started out to be."

"Yeah," he said, "I know. Just like combat." He shrugged, and added, "You do know that it's back up this canyon wall again? And then back across that mesa? It's the only way out."

"Right past Reynolds? Yeah, I know."

"We can make it by dark. If we hurry."

"Right," I said. Wrong, I thought. Wrong wrong wrong. I wanted to hole up down here like a lizard and wait for the cavalry. A rescue fantasy; yeah, that would be good. A dozen Blackhawks, maybe a few V-22s, and a few teams of Navy Seals coming up the Rio Grande for good measure. A team of Army Rangers, and maybe my State Police SWAT buddies. And a mute button so that I could tune out the commercials.

I slipped on my pack and started forward to my familiar litany. "I hate to climb. I despise climbing."

This time, though, it was easier. Timber found a well worn animal trail running from the top of the mesa down to the river; actually, it was almost a highway. We made it up in no time. Well, almost no time; we seemed to spend many minutes studying our surroundings, looking for signs of Reynolds.

"We should stay here tonight," Harm suggested once we reached the top. "Reynolds doesn't know we're here."

"You think," I added.

"Well, he hasn't shot us yet. The only approach is from the mesa side; the back is up against the canyon rim. There's decent cover from those trees." He looked at me hard. "It will be easier to watch."

I nodded assent, and dropped my pack.


	6. Chapter 6

0800 Zulu

New Mexico Desert

Canyon Rim Camp

It happened in the middle of the night.

Timber growled: one low, soft, menacing rumble, followed by silence. He rose to his feet, his hackles silohetted by moonlight, as if he was a marionet being lifted to his feet by strings. I was frozen in terror. Timber was motionless, silent, watching, waiting. Somehow I whispered a quiet command. Timber glided off into the night, a ghost dog.

Harm moved quietly away from behind his juniper, where he had been watching, waiting. He disappeared into the shadows in an instant, gun in his hand, his camoflage fatigues doing their job.

I reached slowly down and grabbed my handgun; I was amazed that I could move at all. Reynolds has to see me, I thought. Heck, he can HEAR me, he's got to be able to hear my heart, thudding like a bass drum. I forced myself to turn my head. It was the hardest thing I've ever done.

I couldn't see him, I couldn't hear him, I had no idea where he was. For that matter, I had no idea where Harm was, either. Or Timber.

I've never felt so utterly alone in my life. I knew what it was like to be the hunter – and the hunted. The months hadn't dulled the sensation at all. I still hated it, hated it with a passion.

There – a shadow moved. Or was it? I turned my head slightly. Timber? A coyote? Reynolds? I didn't know.

The shadow coalesced into a human, too short to be Harm. It raised an arm.

Could I shoot a man? Could I kill a man? Did I have it in me, now? I didn't have an answer.

The arm moved, ever so slightly. My blood pounded in my ears. "Him or me, him or me, him or me," it whispered. Training took over, fueled by instinct.

I pivoted silently; my karate instructor would be proud. I pointed my handgun – like I was pointing a finger, just like the state police firearms instructor had drilled into me. My finger squeezed the trigger.

"Reynolds!"

Reynolds spun, to face Harm – or at least the direction his voice had come from. My fingers relaxed.

"You don't want to do this, Reynolds. There's still a chance….talk to me, Reynolds, talk to me."

Reynolds' reply was swift and decisive. Two shots flashed into the darkness toward Harm; and the next was heading my way. I dove and rolled - Oh God please let Harm be ok I can't loose another partner - out of the corner of my eye I saw a black shadow fly. Reynolds' shot went wild; simultaneously I heard his cry of alarm.

Timber. Taking down Reynolds.

I swung out from behind the boulder. "Drop it, Reynolds, and freeze, and I'll call the dog off! Do it now!" I couldn't believe the power in my voice.

Reynolds made no move to comply.

"Do it, Reynolds, or he'll rip your throat out!" Now, in the moonlight, I saw Harm moving….slowly working his way among the trees, angling for a better position.

Reynolds wasn't quitting, dog or no dog. I saw a shadow of a hand – his free hand – reach for his belt.

"Harm!" I cried. "Timber, OUS!"

Timber dropped like a stone, just an instant before Reynolds did. And in that instant, I didn't know if it was my shot or Harm's that felled Reynolds, I didn't know if Timber was dead or alive, I didn't know if I'd killed a person, or killed the dog who had just saved our lives.

In that instant I felt totally, absolutely, one hundred percent filled with a dread and remorse and a flood of emotions unlike any I'd ever imagined was possible. I had forgotten. It was awful.

An eternity later, Harm limped over and sat next to me, and I clung to him for the rest of the night like he was life itself. Sometime in the night Timber joined us.

The cavalry arrived with the dawn.


	7. Chapter 7

2300 Zulu the next day

Albuquerque International Airport

"Well," Harm said, "thanks for the ride."

"Any time." I forced a smile. "At least you don't have any luggage to check."

"True enough." He didn't get out of my truck. "Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"

I shook my head, thinking of an excuse. "I'd love to, but it's too hot to leave Timber in here. Besides…." I stumbled a bit, "Besides, I ought to head home. I've got to go to work tomorrow." I forced a smile.

He saw right through me. "It will be all right, you know. Just give it some time."

I sat still, not trusting myself. Or him. Or my memories.

"No, Harm, it won't be all right." I turned and looked him directly in the eye. "Ever again. Nothing," I continued, "will ever be the same again."

He nodded, then climbed out of the truck, and started toward the terminal. I put the truck in gear, only to hear the passenger door open again.

"Just remember," he said, "just remember that NOTHING is EVER the same again, anyway. They call it 'life'." He flashed that smile, leaned across the seat, and gave me a deep, lingering, electrifying kiss. I sat there, stunned, until the car behind me honked it's horn and I realized that he was in the terminal building and gone.

Somehow, between the time Timber and I left the airport and the time we arrived home in the mountains, things seemed a bit better. And the next morning, when I drove to the K-9 barracks and put my badge back on, the world again seemed like it might be right again - very different, but very right indeed.

The End


End file.
